Heartbreak Drives a Big Black Car
by paperstorm
Summary: Part of my Deleted Scenes series. The tag for 'The Magnificent Seven', 3x1. Implied Wincest.


**Contains dialogue from the episode 'The Magnificent Seven'. It, along with my soul, belongs to Eric Kripke.  
**

**Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page. They will make more sense if read in order. :)**

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"See you gents around," Tamara says, walking away from them briskly with a tightness to her lips and a broken look in her eyes. Sam's heart aches for her. She lost her husband, the person she loved the most in the world. For just a brief, wonderful moment, the deal and Hell and everything slips Sam's mind and he just thinks about the fact that he doesn't know what he'd do if he ever lost Dean. And then he remembers, and it takes some serious blinking and jaw-clenching to keep the tears back.

"Tamara," Bobby calls quietly, and she turns and glances back. "The world just got a lot scarier. Be careful."

She nods sadly and says, "You too," although she _almost_ looks like she doesn't mean it. Sam can't blame her.

"Keep your eyes pealed for omens," Bobby says to Sam and Dean, as Tamara gets into her truck and drives off. Somehow, Sam knows they won't ever see her again. "I'll do the same."

"You got it," Dean replies.

Bobby starts to walk away, but Sam stops him. "Wait, Bobby. We can win this war, right?"

Bobby doesn't answer, he just drops his gaze down to somewhere around Sam's ribcage, and Sam sighs. Dean echoes it next to them. It's never a good sign when Bobby doesn't have an answer to one of their questions.

"Catch you on the next one," Bobby says heavily, and then he's gone too, and even though Dean's right there beside him, suddenly Sam feels very, very alone.

"So where to?" Dean asks, the brightness of his voice not quite masking everything Sam knows is lurking just under the surface.

"Uh, I don't know, I was thinking Louisiana, maybe?"

"Little early for Mardi Gras, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Listen, I was talking to Tamara, and she mentioned this Hoodoo priest just outside Shreveport that might be able to help us out, you know, with your … your demon deal." It's hard for Sam to even say the words without feeling like breaking down. It still doesn't quite feel real that all this is happening – that Dean actually sold himself for Sam. It probably should make Sam feel immeasurably, unconditionally, indescribably loved, but it doesn't. It makes him feel sick.

"Nah," Dean says casually, and Sam bristles.

"Nah? What does that mean, nah?"

"Sam, no Hoodoo spell is gonna break this deal, alright? It's a goose-chase."

"Well, we don't know that, Dean," Sam protests.

"Yes we do. Forget it, she can't help."

"Look, it's worth a – " Sam begins, but Dean cuts him off in that bossy, condescending, I'm-older-so-I-know-better tone of voice that gets under Sam's skin like nothing else does.

"We're not going and that's that. What about Reno, huh?"

"You know what?" Sam grabs Dean's arm and doesn't let him walk away. "I've had it. I've been bending over backwards try'na be nice to you, and I don't care anymore."

"That didn't last long," Dean says with a smirk.

"Yeah, well, you know what, I've been busting my ass trying to keep you alive, Dean, and you act like you couldn't care less! What, you've got some kinda death wish or something?"

"No, it's not like that."

"Then what's it like, Dean?"

"Sam."

"Please! Tell me," Sam insists.

Dean considers him for just a moment, his eyes searching for something in Sam's face, and then whatever it is he was looking for he must find, because he says, "We trap the crossroads demon, trick it, try to Welch our way out of the deal in any way? You die."

Sam falters, frowning. For a second he isn't sure if he heard Dean right until Dean keeps going.

"Okay? You _die_. Those are the terms, there's no way out of it. If you try to find a way, so help me God, _I'm_ gonna stop you."

Something tight and uncomfortable cinches around Sam's windpipe. He's been having trouble breathing properly every second he's been awake since he found out what Dean did to save him. It's like no matter how deep a breath he takes, he can't get enough air to satisfy his aching lungs.

"How could you make that deal, Dean?" he whispers, unable to keep his voice steady regardless of how hard he tries to.

"'Cause I couldn't live with you dead," Dean answers offhandedly, like it's no big deal at all. "Couldn't do it."

"So what, now I live and you die?"

"That's the general idea, yeah." He tries to walk away again, but Sam darts out in front of him and blocks his path.

"Yeah? Well you're a hypocrite, Dean!" he snaps, heart beating into his throat. "How did you feel when Dad sold his soul for you? 'Cause I was there, I remember. You were twisted, and broken. And now you go and do the same thing. To me. What you did was selfish."

"Yeah, you're right. It was selfish. But I'm okay with that." Dean just keeps on smiling, and it pisses Sam off even more.

"I'm not."

"Tough. After everything I've done for this family, I think I'm entitled. The truth is I'm tired, Sam. I don't know, it's like there's a light at the end of the tunnel."

"That's hellfire, Dean," Sam grinds out.

"Well, whatever. You're alive, I feel good for the first time in a long time. I got a year to live, Sam, I'd like to make the most of it. So whata'ya say we kill some evil sons-of-bitches and we raise a little hell, huh?" He raises his eyebrows mockingly – or maybe patronizingly, Sam can't tell – and then he moves around Sam and digs into his pocket for the keys to the Impala.

"You're unbelievable," Sam grumbles.

Dean just grins even wider, like Sam just paid him some kind of compliment, and says, "Very true," as he climbs into the driver's seat and pulls the door shut behind him.

Sam stands there for a minute, considering staying right where he is until Dean gets back out and has a real, honest conversation about this instead of resorting to the sarcastic, asshole version of himself he usually saves for the things they hunt, but then all the fight just melts out of Sam and he follows his brother into the car. He feels so defeated – he doesn't know what to do or say anymore. He's so completely torn to shreds inside at the idea of living without Dean, and every time it comes up and Dean seems like he doesn't give two shits about any of it, it just breaks Sam down even more. But he's stuck. He's feeling too many things to be able to distinguish one from the other. Too many emotions all screaming and vying for his attention, and he's trapped in between wanting, _needing_ to figure everything out, and not wanting to push Dean so hard he'll close up for good. Dean clearly has no interest in talking about this, and Sam's so terrified of prodding too much. Almost as terrified as he is at the prospect of a world without his big brother in it.

Part of him doesn't want to let himself think of every day as one less he'll ever have with Dean; wants to keep moving forward and focus on figuring out how to get Dean out of it instead of dwelling on losing him. Because Sam feels like if he spends too much time drowning in the sorrow of it all, he'll just snap and dissolve into tears and then not be able to pull himself back out. And then, the other part of him doesn't want to waste a single precious second he has left with his brother. He wants to do everything with him that he can; all the things they've always talked about doing but put off because they thought they had time. But back on the other side, even thinking about not wasting time with Dean reminds him that his time with Dean is going to run out, and then Sam just feels like crying all over again.

They drive in tense silence for long enough that Sam loses track of time; of how many dry, bland, colorless fields they pass. The scenery outside his window is just a blur, spinning through Sam's vision, just as chaotic and completely out of his control as everything else in his life is right now. Adding everything else that's gone wrong to the fact that, after that first night, Dean hasn't touched him since he made the deal, and there's an itching underneath Sam's skin that he feels like he won't ever be able to scratch out. The way Dean looked at him last night, while they were waiting for the Sins to find them, is sort of all Sam can think about. Dean was piecing a gun together and Sam was pouring holy water into different canisters and he looked up when he felt Dean's eyes on him. Dean's gazed locked with Sam's, and the look in his eyes, like he wanted to do things to Sam that would be wrong even for them, made goosebumps erupt all over Sam's body. It's not the sex he misses, it's the closeness. There was so much _love_ in the way Dean held him in the dark; and just in the mere fact that they so often share a bed even though it's been close to a decade since they fit together in one comfortably, and Sam really, really misses him. But then, that just makes him even sadder. Because every time Dean looks at him like that is just one time closer to the last time. Nothing is right anymore, and there are black, foreboding clouds on the horizon that make Sam feel like nothing will ever be right ever again.

"Okay, stop it," Dean finally grumbles, after what has to be at least a half hour of neither of them saying anything and the quiet getting edgier by the minute.

"Stop what?" Sam asks dully, even though he knows what Dean's going to say.

"You're emo-ing like crazy over there. It's suckin' all the air outta the car."

"I don't know what else you want me to do!" Sam cries, instantly just as upset as he was before they started driving. "This isn't about family and sacrifice and all that other crap to me, this is about the fact that I love you, I've loved you every day since the day I was born, and next year at this time you'll be dead! How exactly am I supposed to feel about that?"

"I can't tell you how to feel," Dean stipulates quietly.

"Well at the very least you could pretend to _care_ about how I feel!" Sam returns angrily. "If you don't give a damn about dying, then fine, I guess I can't make you. But I sure as hell give a damn! I'm not gonna just sit here and act like I'm okay with this! And you making this all into some big goddamn joke really isn't helping! I know that's how you deal and I get it, Dean, but Jesus, coughing and going on about how you don't know how much time you have left?! What the hell was that? God, it's bad enough that you don't care about yourself, but I thought you at least cared about me! How can you be this way?! After everything we've been through together how can I possibly mean so little to you that you'd do this to me?"

Suddenly and completely without warning, Dean wrenches the steering-wheel to the right and pulls the Impala over so violently the tires screech on the pavement and Sam's unexpecting body slams into the passenger's side door so hard there'll be bruises on his right arm tomorrow. Dean throws the car into park so roughly he almost pulls the gear-shift right off, and then he turns to Sam with fire in his eyes.

"Don't you _dare_ say I don't care about you!" he growls. "I did this _for _you!"

"Like hell you did!" Sam replies loudly. "You did it for _you_, you did it because you've got it in your stupid, thick skull that you need me more than I need you! Everything we've gone through, everything we supposedly mean to each other, no matter how many friggin' times I tell you how in love with you I am, that you're _everything_ to me, and you still don't believe it! You still think you could just walk out of my life tomorrow and I'd be totally fine!"

Dean doesn't answer, he just glares, so Sam barrels on.

"Well I won't! I am _not_ gonna be fine without you, not even a little bit! You say you couldn't live with me dead like it's an explanation, like it's a good excuse for what you did, but it isn't! Because I can't live with you dead either, but now I'm gonna have to!"

Dean sighs and scratches indifferently at a spot near his hairline, but he still doesn't say anything. Sam has no idea why Dean's just blatantly ignoring him, but it _hurts_. He's basically pouring his heart out, leaving it twitching and bloodied on the ground just begging for Dean to pick it up and dust it off and make everything okay again like only he knows how; but Dean's just sitting there, vacant, like he really doesn't care how much this is hurting Sam.

"Did I do this to you?" Sam asks, tears welling up in his eyes and spilling down his cheeks, completely beyond his control. He's lost track of how many times he's asked Dean that question over the last two years, always wanting so desperately to know if it's his fault that Dean doesn't value himself at all. Dean never answers him, though, and this time is no different. "Did me going away to school really mess you up this badly, that you're so willing to throw your life away like it's nothing? That you think you don't even matter?"

"Sam," Dean says, warningly, but that's all he says and Sam can't seem to find the off-switch in his own brain. The fact that Dean's so emotionless about all of this just makes Sam even more upset than he already was. He can't understand why Dean doesn't seem bothered at all by the idea that unless they find some way to stop it, in a year's time he'll be gone and Sam will be totally alone.

"It's supposed to be you and me against the world, remember?" he mumbles brokenly. "How many times have you told me that? And now, what, it's just me? How am I supposed to do this without you?"

Dean sighs again, heavy and exasperated, as if talking to Sam is like dealing with a misbehaving child who's getting on his last nerve. Sam sort of wants to hit him, or he would if he were the sort of person who dealt with his anger by punching people, but then Dean starts talking so Sam keeps his mouth shut.

"You know, right after you … there was this moment when I was just staring at you," Dean starts slowly, quietly; like he's dreading having to actually voice what he's about to say. "We had you laid out on that bed, and you were lying there all cold and not moving and I … all I kept thinking about was this time when you were a kid."

Sam holds his breath and waits for more. He hasn't so far managed to get Dean to talk to him very much about what happened that night, the night Dean made the deal, so he sits in total silence and tries not to move for fear of doing or saying something wrong and making Dean clam up again.

"You were, shit I dunno, maybe eight? It was before you knew monsters were real, anyway. And there was this guy at school who'd been givin' you a hard time, I guess. You'd come home a few times with a bruise or two, but you always just said it was an accident or you'd got hit with a baseball in gym or something. And I always believed you, except for this one day when you came home with a shiner, and … and you were crying … I bugged you about it 'till you told me what happened and I … fuck, I was so furious." Dean laughs unsteadily and shakes his head. "I was gonna kick that kid's ass within an inch of his life, I swear. And your face just lit up, you looked at me like I was your hero or somethin'. God, I loved you lookin' at me like that."

Sam smiles a little. He remembers that actually. They lived in Montana for a few months one year while Dad was tracking a pack of werewolves. That kid was an asshole, Sam remembers getting pushed into the lockers almost every day for the whole time they lived there. He can't quite recall how it all turned out, probably they moved away before anything could really come of it. But he had no idea Dean even remembered it, let alone is still thinking about it.

Dean sniffs and shifts in his seat a little. He looks upset, but he also looks uncomfortable, like he'd rather be talking about anything else than what he is. "But then later, after you fell asleep, Dad pulled me aside and he … turns out he'd heard us talking. And he read me the riot act, man, told me he wouldn't stop them from carting me off to Juvie if I tried to beat up an eight year old kid. So the next day I didn't do anything. And when you came home … you … you looked fuckin' miserable. Your shirt was ripped, and your backpack was all soaked like that kid dropped it in a puddle or something. God, I felt like shit. And I kept expecting you to cry or ask me why I didn't help you, but you didn't. You just looked at me. Like you were … disappointed. Because I promised I'd protect you and I didn't."

Sam swallows. There's a lump in his throat that won't go away, and tears prickle at the corners of his eyes again. He's sort of come to the conclusion over the last couple years that he'll never fully understand how much taking care of him and keeping him safe is etched on Dean's bones; that he'll never really know what it feels like to have his whole purpose in life whittled down to one job, one single task, and then feel like he's failed at it. And he's never felt that disconnect more than he does right now. He doesn't understand how Dean was feeling in that moment, looking at Sam's lifeless body and believing he could have – _should_ have – stopped it from happening, but that realization doesn't make him feel any better about it. Any of it. If anything, it makes everything worse.

"I don't think I've ever felt that terrible in my whole life," Dean says, his voice rough and thick with the emotion Sam's sure would be shining in his eyes if he would look up. "I mean for fuck's sake, it's been more than ten years and it still gets to me. But then when you were … dead … God, it was a million times worse. You died, right there in front of me. You don't know what that was like, Sam. I … I felt you … _leave_. And I didn't do anything to stop it. I told Dad I'd save you. I've spent my whole life promisin' you I'd keep you safe, you know? And I didn't. I let you down."

"You didn't," Sam says, finding his voice at last, but Dean just huffs and brushes away a few tears that have managed to slip past his iron will.

"I really did. I broke the only promise I ever made that actually meant something. And I couldn't, Sammy. I just couldn't. I know it was selfish. It was the most selfish thing I've ever done, but I – I couldn't live the rest of my life without you. Not knowin' how much it was my fault. I had to make the deal."

"Stop saying that." There are tears on Sam's face now too, and an ache in his heart that feels like it might actually be breaking.

"Saying what?"

"That you had to, like it's a reason."

Dean finally looks over at Sam, just for a second, and then his face hardens again, time-tested mask slipping back into place, and he shifts the Impala back into gear. "I fucked up, Sam. And there was something I could do to fix it, to bring you back, so I did it. And I'm sorry if that doesn't make any sense to you, but I don't have a better explanation, so."

"Dean," Sam pushes weakly, the sadness inside him bubbling up to the point that it's almost unbearable, but Dean doesn't answer. He just turns the radio up and pulls the car back onto the highway.


End file.
